Ugh. I need to bleach my ears.
“Becca, call 911,” Devlin says, his eyes still on her.
“What?” This is out of left field…
Even Sylvie stops rubbing her breasts along his arm.
“Sylvie’s having trouble breathing. I think she’s experiencing respiratory distress.”
I bite my lip to contain a laugh, but it isn’t enough. A small snort escapes.
Sylvie swivels her head my way. “What’s so funny?”
“She isn’t laughing,” Devlin says. “She’s trying to not cry.”
He comes over and hugs me, putting his hand behind my head and pulling down until my face is buried in his large chest. His being on my side warms me, making me soft and happy. He’s probably doing it because of his friendship with Max rather than for me, but still, I’m grateful…
…until I feel his erection pressing against my belly.
He got hard from having her breasts all over his bare skin?
She touched him, and he didn’t do anything with her. As a matter of fact, he’s holding me, like I’m a precious being he needs to console and keep safe. But I’m annoyed and dismayed that Sylvie made him hard anyway. He can get horny off a porn movie, a hot celebrity or anybody else in Drover, as long as he doesn’t react to Sylvie.
I try to pull away, but he’s too strong. I try wiggling my fingers against the tight skin on his side to tickle him, but that doesn’t seem to work. So I opt for the last resort: light pinching.
He finally lets go and murmurs, “What’s wrong?”
“Couldn’t quite breathe.” I’m not discussing the state of his penis in front of Sylvie, especially when it’s caused by her.
He tilts his head. I might not be good at reading facial expressions, but I can tell he doesn’t buy my explanation. Oh well.
I’m relieved when Grandma calls out from the yard that the steaks are done. Now I just need to survive this dinner and hope Devlin doesn’t do anything to humiliate me like my ex-boyfriends did with Sylvie.
Chapter Twenty
Devlin
If I judge the dinner purely on food, it gets an A-plus. The salad’s great, if I may say so, and the steak is to die for. Even the coleslaw isn’t too bad. One thing about the South—they can cook up a storm.
But the awkwardness?
It’s on another level, enough to make my stomach knot. As a matter of fact, it actually affects my appetite. And that’s not good. I have plans for tonight that require my being as healthy as one of those horses the cowboys were riding on.
Becca and I sit together, and Sylvie takes the empty seat next to mine. Then she proceeds to touch me the entire dinner, which is probably meant to be sexy and arousing. But it just makes me feel like a guinea pig in a petting zoo. But wait—a guinea pig that’s secretly a cannibalistic alien creature! I keep debating if I should rip her head off or bite her hands off. And I wonder if that’s going to upset Margaret, who’s watching Sylvie and me like we’re putting on a Broadway show.
Meanwhile, Becca keeps her gaze on the food and chews like a robot.
“So tell us, Devlin. What made you fall for Becca?” Sylvie asks like it’s a mystery she can’t crack.
“What’s not to fall for? She’s smart, beautiful and talented.” Hmm. Said out loud, that sounded too clichéd. “And she loves Batman. Who could say no to a woman who loves Batman? I even dressed in a Batman shirt for our wedding.”
“I like Batman!” Sylvie says. “He’s totally hot. Rich, too.”
“Right? Thank God I’m both in real life. I’d hate to not be able to pull off the whole Bruce Wayne thing for my new wife.”
Sylvie’s jaw tightens. Hope she gets indigestion and starts farting.
“Do we have more Dr. Pepper?” I say when we only have dessert left to go. I’m not touching any more of Margaret’s disgusting tea. Not even vodka can save it.